


A Hawk and a Wolf - Beginnings

by Odalis88



Series: Were-Hunter Universe [3]
Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: M/M, More tags as additional chapters are added, Sherrilyn Kenyon - Freeform, Were-Hunter Universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-03-17 00:44:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3508784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Odalis88/pseuds/Odalis88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Barca is the best at what he does: hunting and killing those who threaten his pack. An oracle's prophecy leads him to a young man who is destined to bring about the end of the powerful Batiatus family. Loyal and devoted to the son of his alpha, Barca has sworn to eliminate the danger to their people. </p><p>Pietros is not what he seems. Though he is kind and just at heart, he holds a great fear and hatred for wolves. Having witnessed the brutal slaughter of his clan, he must now decide who he can trust.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Caged

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OctobersLily510](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OctobersLily510/gifts).



_Westerwald, East of the Rhine_

Quintus Batiatus paced in the hall outside his bedroom, pausing now and then to gaze out the window at the burning pyre in the garden where the pack gathered to mourn the death of his brother, Titus. 

A small fissure of power broke the still air at his back. It was so small, a lesser wolf might have missed it. But not he, not the elder son and rightful heir to the Alpha. 

“What news from the oracle?” he asked his most loyal servant. 

“Sura speaks of the hawk clan on our periphery. A young man who has not yet come into his powers will become Aristi.”

Batiatus gave an impatient jerk of his head at the word _Aristi_. It was common knowledge that Quintus, despite his stellar lineage, was not blessed with these powers. Aristi were rare Were-hunters with the powers of a god. “Out of puberty yet not into his powers?”

“Hawks tend to gain Aristi powers later in their adult lives, not as adolescents as we do. I do not know the reason. The oracle says he is destined to bring about the downfall of a powerful dynasty wolves.”

Batiatus swung about to face him. “She spoke of my family?”

Barca shrugged. “You know how oracles always talk in riddles. It is unclear which pack she means. I thought perhaps, the prophecy might point to our Katagaria neighbors to the south.”

“Perhaps, perhaps.” Batiatus took to pacing again. “The clan of hawks does buffer both our territories, acting as mediators from time to time. What does my father know of this?”

“The alpha knows nothing. His grief over the death of his youngest son overwhelms him.”

Snorting, Batiatus ran a hand through his hair. “The pack must be protected from this threat. The burden falls to me since my father is unfit to see to it. You are my most trusted, my most loyal servant. Sneak into Katagaria lands. We do not know what they know of this prophecy, but they must not be allowed to take custody of the one who may prove to be the downfall of us. The animals would use him against us in a heartbeat.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Use any means necessary to protect my people – my father’s people, I should say.” Batiatus drew himself up to his full height, which fell about 6 inches short of Barca’s. “Eliminate this threat.”

***

His whole family was gone. In the blink of an eye, his parents, younger sister, every person he’d ever known just…wasn’t anymore. 

Pietros had never given much thought to death or dying. Arcadians and Katagaria of every species had elongated lives. His people lived for hundreds of years. Natural death was rare, but a time for reflection for the rest of the colony, not sadness or grief. 

Prior to last night, he hadn’t experienced the hollowness, the heartbreak that accompanied such enormous loss. Now it was all he felt, all he was. Everyone who’d ever meant anything to him had been cut down in their prime. It wasn’t fair that he, a young hawk barely coming into his manhood, was spared, not when they’d all been killed. 

It was those damned wolves who’d done it. They came while the colony slept and murdered them all, and taken him as prisoner. His people were gentle and peaceful, wholly undeserving of the horror that had filled their final moments on this earth. 

Wolves were brutal, animalistic, and filled with rage. It was no wonder the elders had looked down their beaks at them. The young were taught to tread with caution when it came to their less evolved, less benevolent neighbors. Everyone knew they couldn’t be tamed, all the wolf knew was to mindlessly follow its alpha. Yet for all the time his people had inhabited the Westerwald, they’d lived peacefully side-by-side with, not one, but two wolf packs. What had made them suddenly go mad with bloodlust? 

Pietros stared glumly around the basement where the Katagaria wolves kept him. Though the house above him was modern, the hole where he was kept seemed as though it had been dug from the earth. The floor and lower half of the walls were bare dirt. 

He wasn’t tied down or chained up. Heck, the small windows weren’t even barred, but he was as effectively trapped as though caught in an electrified bird-cage. The first thing his captors had done was snap a _metriazo_ collar around his neck, trapping him in his human base-form and preventing him from using magic to teleport himself to safety. 

Even if he could transform into his alternate shape, he wouldn’t be able to fly away. The next cruel deed they’d done was break his arm. And since his powers were leashed, he was as good as human and wasn’t healing as an Arcadian hawk should. He blinked away treacherous tears. They’d taken everything from him; he would not give them the satisfaction of making him cry on top of it. 

He doubted his life would ever return to normal. If by some miracle he escaped and found a way to remove the collar, he had no idea if his arm would ever heal to proper working order. He may never fly again. The thought that he’d never feel the wind cradling his body or greet the sky in joyful expectation was enough to drain away the last glimmer of hope left in his heart. He might as well die here. Better to die than to live the rest of his life as a flightless, caged pet to a pack of monstrous, unfeeling beasts. 

The soft, almost imperceptible sounds of a wolf outside his door made him sit upright, totally alert. Whoever it was must have flashed to human form because a second later, the doorknob twisted and a man walked leisurely down the stairs, as though he hadn’t a care in the world. Even while trapped in human form, Pietros could smell the stench of blood and death on him. It made his stomach curl in repugnance. 

Barca almost smiled to himself at how easy it had been to locate the Katagaria pack’s den and to sneak in. He only had to kill two sentries in the process. The animal branch of his species lacked the human intellect his Arcadian people possessed. Now all that remained of his mission was to find that Arcadian hawk whose presence threatened his alpha and put an end to him. 

At the foot of the stairs, he came to a pause, his eyes automatically adjusting to the dark and landing on a young man leaning stiffly against the far wall and clutching his right arm to his chest. He hadn’t expected his victim to look quite so… 

He struggled to find the right word. 

Defiant, he decided. Barca did not hold hawks to be among the braver branches of Were-hunters, always flying away from a fight rather than standing their ground. But this one looked like he wanted to rip him apart with his bare hands. 

He walked forward until he stood directly above the slight man. To his immense shock, the hawk used the wall behind him as leverage to stand himself upright. Still cradling his arm, he looked up with such loathing that Barca swore he felt its heat. 

“Well?” Pietros spat at the giant man, covered in blood mingled with tufts of wolf fur. “Are you going to kill me or just stare until old age claims me?”

The boldness of the young man threw Barca off balance. He didn’t know how to respond.

“I prefer to die standing, looking into the eyes of my killer. Unlike the rest of my kin, who were slaughtered in their sleep.” Accusation shone bright in his eyes, and though he did not say it, the hawk plainly considered wolves who attacked in that manner to be cowards. Barca privately agreed with him. There was nothing lower, in his opinion, than killing when your opponent’s back was turned. 

Barca regained his composure. “It is not my intention to kill you here.” Before he could offer protest, Barca grabbed the shoulder of the man’s uninjured arm and teleported them to a small hunting cabin his pack owned near the edge of their lands to the northeast. As though the journey took a great toll on him, the hawk collapsed on the floor with a grunt. 

Deciding on the spot not to kill him until after he questioned him, Barca conjured a plate of bread and fresh fruit. 

“Eat,” he ordered, shoving the food at his captive. Though his instructions were to eliminate the threat to his pack, he couldn’t help but want to offer him some sustenance first. Barca didn’t know a great deal about the other species of Were-hunters, but the hawk seemed unnaturally thin. Or perhaps he seemed frail because Barca was merely accustomed to other Arcadian wolves, who, as a general rule, were larger with lean muscles. 

The young man spat at the plate, breathing heavily and leaning against an armchair. 

Barca growled. “You may as well eat. I will not kill a helpless creature lying on the floor. When I kill you, you will be standing and you will have the means to defend yourself. You have my word.”

Pietros snorted scathingly. “What is that worth? The word of a wolf. I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you. And I’m _no_ t helpless.”

“I can see that,” Barca replied dryly. “What’s your name, little hawk?”

“Pietros. I want you to let me go.”

“You can call me Barca.”

“Let me go,” Pietros repeated, staring unblinkingly at him with hatred burning deep in his eyes. “I will not be kept by you as a… as a pet.”

“You don’t really have a choice, now do you?” Barca sat next to him on the floor, mildly impressed that Pietros didn’t cringe away from him in fear. He seemed to inspire that in most people and animals. He didn’t know if he was angry or amused that the hawk wasn’t afraid of him. “You have nowhere to go. The Katagaria wolf pack killed every member of your clan. The Westerwald is no longer home to any Arcadian hawk. Except you.”

At the reminder of his family, Pietros seemed to wilt, but no tears fell from his eyes. 

“Why did they let you live?” Pietros didn’t answer, so Barca growled his name between clenched teeth, maintaining the leash on his temper by a thread. Questioning people wasn’t his forte. His only skills lie in tracking, hunting, and killing. However, for reasons unknown to him, he didn’t wish to bring Pietros in for another member of his pack to interrogate. 

“Why don’t you ask them? They’re _your_ people.”

“They are no kin to me!” Barca barked, his indignation getting the better of him. “I am Arcadian, not an animal.” Arcadians were humans with the ability to transform into an animal. Katagaria were base animals who could transform into humans.

Pietros looked at him in a way that made him feel small. “Your actions tell a different story. Your brutality precedes you, Barca of the Batiatus Pack. I’ve known animals who are more human than you. You still reek of the blood of your brothers. Arcadian, Katagaria, it makes no difference. We are all descendants of the same peoples. We are all shapeshifters.”

Barca took a large bite of a roll from the plate of food he’d conjured and chewed slowly, considering his hostage. He _had_ to know what, if anything, the hawk knew of the prophecy. He didn’t even know if Pietros was the one the oracle spoke of, the one to end the line of the powerful alpha.

But how could he _not_ be? The other pack must have been damn sure he was the one or they wouldn’t have left him the sole hawk alive.

Pietros closed his eyes and leaned against the chair again. His skin was a ghastly shade of green.

“Eat something,” Barca said abruptly. “I will return shortly.”

Pietros opened an eye to glare at Barca until the wolf vanished, then looked around the room for a way out. He saw two doors. One was the front door, which was padlocked from the inside, the other was slightly ajar and led to a bathroom. There were no windows. Neither of these would be an obstacle if only he had his powers. Without them, he was helpless.

Well, nearly helpless. He stood with great effort and moved about the cabin slowly, looking for anything that could be used as a weapon.


	2. Electricity

_New Orleans, Louisiana_

Kore shivered and drew her shawl tighter over her shoulders, and not because it was cold. She was no stranger to walking home alone, but tonight felt different.

She worked at Sanctuary, home to some of the scariest beings in New Orleans. They all knew who she was and that she worked with Oenomaus in the clinic there, and everyone knew to leave her alone. Not once in the 15 years she’d lived here had anyone mugged her and she’d taken her safety for granted. 

There were no sounds that indicated she was being followed, rather it was the distinct _lack_ of noise that set her nerves on edge. It was as though the typical nighttime ambiance that filled the air sensed danger and held its breath until the menace passed. 

Shaking her head at her overactive imagination, Kore touched the outline of her phone in the front pocket of her jeans. Part of her wanted to call Sanctuary and have someone walk her the rest of the way home, however pride kept her from it. She knew how most Were-hunters saw humans like her: weak and defenseless. Though Naevia, Crixus, and their family had welcomed her with open arms, she didn’t want to act like a frightened mouse too scared to take a 10 minute walk by herself. 

_Besides,_ she admonished herself, _you’re imagining things._

Despite her brave words, her heart leapt into her throat as a stray cat streaked out of the alley in front of her, and she ran the last few yards to her apartment building. 

Once locked safely within her walls, Kore almost groaned out loud in relief. She slung her shawl and purse onto the hook on the back of the door and walked towards the kitchen to make herself a cup of chamomile tea. 

If she hadn’t seen the enormous shape materialize right in front of her, she’d have thought someone had been hiding in her home. Letting out a tiny shriek of alarm, she jerked involuntarily on the box in her hands and covered the counter in teabags. The man didn’t speak for several heartbeats, but continued to stare disquietingly at her. 

“Who are you?” Picking up a knife from the block behind her, Kore held it protectively in front of her and moved slowly to the front door as though she meant to escape. 

“I’m not letting you leave,” the man rumbled in a gruff baritone. “Not until we talk.”

She knew without testing the knob that the door would be locked with his supernatural powers, but once she reached it, she flung away the useless knife and snatched her handheld Taser out of her purse. Electricity was her only defense against Were-hunters. 

“Does that make you feel safe?” He took a step towards her and Kore let sparks crackle in the space between them.

“Don’t come any closer! What do you want?”

He responded to her question with one of his own. “Are you the human healer who works at Sanctuary? Kora?”

“Kore. I work with Oenomaus. I’m a nurse.”

The man narrowed dark eyes on her. “Not a doctor, then?”

Kore was proud that she was able to keep the shaking from her voice. “The bears helped pay for me to continue to go to school. I have one more semester until I’m official.” 

Barca hesitated before telling her why he’d come here. Asking for help wasn’t in his nature. “There’s… Someone is injured and needs medical attention.”

As though he’d flipped a switch, Kore’s demeanor instantly changed to that of a healer and she lowered the Taser. “A Were-hunter? If it’s serious, you should take them to Oenomaus.”

“An Arcadian hawk. Broken arm. He isn’t healing on his own.” He purposefully failed to mention that the reason Pietros wasn’t healing was because Barca had left the _metriazo_ collar on him which stripped away his powers for as long as he wore it.

Kore rushed around her apartment to grab her medical bag and supplies. “You know, Oenomaus is a hawk too. Perhaps –”

“No!” Barca barked. “No Were-hunters. Just you. Do you have everything you need to treat him?”

“Well, I’m guessing I won’t have access to an X-ray machine… No, I think I have everything else. Wait!” she said, backing away from the man as he reached a hand out to touch her, presumably to teleport them away. “I’m not going anywhere with you until _after_ you tell me who you are.”

He ground his teeth at the infuriating woman. The longer she stalled, the longer Pietros was in pain. The thought caused Barca to pause to wonder why he cared whether or not the hawk was in pain, but for reasons unknown, he _did_ care. He reasoned that as long as he was hurting, Pietros was less likely to be corporative and answer questions. 

“My name is Barca. I am an Arcadian wolf from the Westerwald. In Germany.”

Kore glared at him suspiciously. “And you swear to bring me right back here after I set his arm?”

“You have my word. _Now_ can we go?”

She nodded and gave him her hand. Barca took it and flashed them to the hunting cabin. He knew instantly that something was wrong. 

It was empty.

***

_Westerwald, East of the Rhine_

For the thousandth time, Pietros lamented the loss of his powers. Had he the ability to transform, he’d be able to fly circles around the wolves who currently encircled _him_ on the ground. 

He had picked the lock on the cabin door and fled into the woods with no notion of where he was going except _away_. He hadn’t gone two miles before a small hunting party of Katagaria wolves found him. Pietros recognized them as part of the pack that had killed his clan. One by one they flashed to dirty, naked human form to taunt him before they took him back to their cellar. 

“You’re going to regret running away from us. You and that other _human_ ,” she sneered the word as though it were a filthy insult. “We know of Barca and the dirty deeds he does for Batiatus. Do you think we don’t know what they’re playing at by getting you on their side?”

“It won’t matter soon,” said the taller of the two men. “The pack will take care of Barca after we bring you home. And then I’ll break your other arm!”

“No, don’t do that,” jeered the woman. She seemed to be their hunt leader with the way the men deferred to her. “I want to turn him into my own personal messenger hawk. Can’t do that with a broken arm.”

“Like a carrier pigeon?”

She smiled salaciously and walked up to him. “I’m going to make you mine. If you pledge loyalty to me, I’ll make sure you’re well cared for and protected from the others. You’re so pretty…” The wolf, who equaled his height, ripped his threadbare t-shirt from neck to hem so that it hung on his shoulders. Then she ran her hands over his chest. “Be a good boy for me, and I won’t share you. You’ll be mine alone.”

Pietros grimaced at her in distaste and batted away her touch with his good hand. That made her scowl deeply. 

“Maybe you need a taste of what awaits you if you _don’t_ behave for me.”

One of the men hooted happily and rubbed his growing erection, but the other quieted him and said nervously, “We should leave now and return to our own lands. I don’t like being in Arcadian territory.”

“You should be afraid,” said a low voice out of the shadow of the trees. “I kill intruders on our lands, and I could use a new wolf-skin rug.”

The woman caught Pietros in a headlock that almost made him pass out, while the two men flashed to their animal forms and ran at Barca.

It became obvious fairly quickly that the wolves were no match for Barca, who took them down with his bare hands. Well, that wasn’t totally true, Pietros amended silently. While Arcadians normally fought with staffs or swords, all Barca had conjured for himself was a set of stainless steel claws that looked like they protruded from his knuckles. The curved claws looked like those of a wolf, but were about 4 times as large.

Though neither side were friendly to him, Pietros silently rooted for Barca. He’d rather Barca kill him than the woman turn him into her own personal chew-toy. 

Once both male wolves were lying motionless on the forest floor, Barca turned slowly to the third, the one holding the hawk. 

“Stop right there! If you don’t release the hold on my powers and let us leave, I’ll snap his neck.”

“I should have known you’d try to teleport yourself to safety.” He wouldn’t be able to maintain it for much longer, but so long as he had her on lock-down, she wasn’t going anywhere with Pietros. “Just like an animal to run away with its tail between its legs when it is confronted by a superior being.”

“Superior being?” she laughed scathingly. “You can’t be talking about yourself, surely. I can take you down right here. And I don’t even need to be in my base form while I do it.” She moved to stand in front of him and conjured a Tasered staff. Then she twirled it around expertly before letting it fall casually on her shoulder. 

Barca almost laughed. “It’s going to take a lot more than that to scare me, bitch. I’m not letting you leave with my prisoner.”

She attacked. Barca’s silver claws flashed as he met her head on. Pietros backed away quietly while they were both distracted and slipped out of the clearing. He had to get as far away as he could before one of them – 

Two simultaneous cries of pain split the air. Both were yelps of injured wolves. For the woman, it was clear that Barca had injured her enough to return her to her animal base-form. Were-hunters could only hold on to their alternate forms while they were conscious. But what had made Barca turn into a wolf? If he was hurt, as an Arcadian, he should have remained human. 

Cautiously, he crept back to the clearing. He broke through the trees just in time to see a small gray and white wolf, that looked like it might have been gutted with the steel claws, flash itself out of the clearing of trees. 

When Pietros’ eyes fell on Barca, he knew why he’d heard him cry out as a wolf. Apparently, the Katagaria had hit him with the Taser end of her staff. Electricity caused Were-hunters to lose control of their magical powers and rendered them unable to maintain a single form. It left them extremely vulnerable. 

Barca was flashing between human and wolf every few seconds, pain wracking him as the electricity seemed to bounce around every cell of his body, as though trying to find a way out. He’d be like this for hours until he had control of his powers again. 

While he was in wolf form, he caught sight of Pietros hovering behind a tree on the other side of the clearing. As soon as Barca flashed to human form, he called out to him. Pietros moved slowly forward, reluctant to offer aid, yet confident that in his current state, Barca could do him no damage. 

When he was near enough, Barca held out his hand and channeled all the residual power he could manage and blasted the _metriazo_ collar off Pietros’ neck. 

Barca shifted into a wolf and then to human form again. “ _Run_ ,” he shouted hoarsely.

Pietros stood stunned as Barca continued to flash between wolf and man. Had Barca just… freed him? Though he was sorely tempted to take to the skies, he still had to wait until his arm healed. He was about to teleport away when he heard a muted whine of pain from Barca’s wolf. 

He scrubbed his face with his good hand, debating what to do. Though it had clearly been Barca’s intention to kill him, he’d turned around and returned Pietros’ powers and his freedom. As much as he’d like to leave this asshole to die in the woods, and die he would should any more Katagaria hunting parties stumble upon him, Pietros’ honor wouldn’t allow it. 

Barca had shown him mercy, and he was obligated to return the favor. 

Pietros approached with caution, when Barca flashed to human form, he quickly put a hand on him and teleported them back to the little cabin where he’d escaped an hour before. A sharp gasp made him spin around, then double over as a wave of nausea crashed into him. 

A gentle arm around his waist led him to a chair. 

“Put your head between your knees and take deep breaths,” said a soothing female voice in his ear. “You’re okay now.”

Once the queasiness had passed, Pietros looked up into a pair of kind, round brown eyes. 

“I’m Kore,” she said, answering his unasked question. “Barca brought me here to bind your arm.”

“Barca…” He turned and saw that the other man was still writhing on the floor, shifting between forms. “Can you do anything for him?”

Kore glanced at Barca, then quickly turned away, as though she were afraid of him. “Sadly, no. There is nothing I can do but wait for the electricity to dissipate. But I can ease some of your pain.”

Twenty minutes later, Kore had his forearm tightly wrapped in a splint and had given him a shot of something for the pain. 

“You guys go through pain meds like nothing I’ve even seen, probably Were-hunter metabolism, but I don’t think you’ll need any more once this wears off. If it doesn’t heal properly in time, come see either myself or Oenomaus at Sanctuary and we’ll fix you up right nice.”

“Thanks so much,” Pietros said sincerely. With his powers back, he knew his arm would heal in record time, but it was nice that Kore had set it properly so that it didn’t heal wrong. “Are you sure –”

“There’s nothing we can do for him,” Kore interjected, following the direction of his stare. Barca was still shifting between human and animal form, yet the change only happened every fifteen seconds or so. “Given how many patients I’ve seen like this, I think he’s got a good hour and a half left to go, at the very least. I believe it’s not as painful now as it was when he was first electrocuted, more inconvenient than anything else. Never having been electrocuted myself, I’m not entirely certain. Speaking of, he won’t be able to accurately channel his powers until he’s got control of his base form again and I kind of need to…”

“You want me to take you home?” Pietros guessed. He knew from her accent that she wasn’t from around here, but he couldn’t pinpoint its origin. 

Kore sighed in relief. “Yes, please. Have you ever been to Sanctuary in New Orleans? It’s owned by a clan of Katagaria bears but it welcomes all species. If you could just pop me back there, I’d be able to get home in a jiffy.”


	3. Ashes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the great delay! Same old story, real life getting in the way of fantasy fun.

_Abandoned cabin, Westerwald, East of the Rhine_

Barca lay on the floor and took his first deep breath in what felt like days, though he knew from experience that it had only been a couple hours. He’d forgotten how much that electrocution shit hurt. Even now that it was over, he didn’t think his legs would support his weight.

Pushing himself into a seated position, he saw a slim figure sitting cross legged upon the chair directly in front of him. The young man had showered. Wet tendrils of dark brown hair curled around his face and dripped onto the shoulders of the gray hoodie he wore. 

“Why did you come back?” Barca’s throat was sore and the words came out in a hoarse rumble. 

Pietros waited until Barca reluctantly met his gaze before he answered with the simple truth. “I had nowhere else to go.”

“You could have stayed at Sanctuary. They keep strays, outcasts. They can shelter you until you…make other arrangements.”

“No.” Pietros shook his head like a dog coming inside after being caught in a downpour and sent water flying. Then he slicked the hair away from his face with his left hand. “I mean, yes. I could have done that. Kore made a very compelling case for me staying there. But I lost everything when that pack attacked and killed my colony. I have no family, no friends, no possessions.” He plucked at his clothes. “This belongs to an Arcadian lion at Sanctuary. He gave it to me. I have nothing except the Westerwald. I can’t bear the thought of leaving just yet. Someday I will, but being here makes me feel close to the people I lost. And that’s what I need. So you see, I had nowhere else to go. Nowhere else is safe.”

Barca wanted to ask him what on earth would make him feel safe _here_ , of all places, in the presence of his would-be killer. Instead, he remained silent.

“Now let me ask _you_ a question. Why did you choose to save me?”

A muscle worked in Barca’s jaw, otherwise his face remained completely stoic. 

“ _Barca_ ,” he said insistently. “Tell me. Please?”

He heaved an irritable sigh. “Had I let you wonder around in the woods with a _metriazo_ collar on, you’d have been picked up by another Katagaria hunting party. They’d have made it harder on me to locate you a second time. I thought you’d have fled from the ones hunting you, that includes _my pack_ , by the way. You should leave before I come to my senses and decide to take you back to my alpha.”

Pietros stared at him levelly. “Are you planning on abducting me again?”

Grinding his teeth, Barca glared at the hawk, who had to be the most annoyingly forthright person he’d ever met. Finally, he relented. “No. But I do mean to question you regarding this prophecy that has everyone running around like a chicken with its head chopped off.”

The corner of Pietros’ mouth quirked up in amusement. “That’s a surprise. A sense of humor. It’s small,” he squinted theatrically. “But I know it’s in there somewhere.” Barca gave him a droll stare and he continued with a huff, “I don’t know anything about a prophecy. Is that why my clan was killed? Some stupid prophecy?” With short, fast motions, Pietros rubbed his right forearm, which bulged slightly beneath the sweatshirt due to Kore’s binding. 

“Not _some stupid prophecy_ ,” Barca snapped. “It speaks of one who will bring about the downfall of a powerful line of alphas. A phoenix that will rise up to incredible power.”

Pietros gave him a sarcastic smile. “There is no such thing as a Were-phoenix.”

“It’s not an actual bird! All oracles talk in fucking riddles like that. It leaves them open to many interpretations. For whatever reason, it pointed the Katagaria pack to your people. Something in the prophecy made them single you out.”

The grim humor fled Pietros’ delicate-looking features. “So, what? They think some prophecy says that I’m destined to destroy the leader of their enemies, and that’s why I was taken instead of killed?”

Barca ground his teeth. Why was he explaining this to the hawk? _He_ was supposed to be asking the questions. “No one knows which alpha’s reign is supposed to be ended. Batiatus – Quintus Batiatus, I mean, the Alpha’s son – thought we should be prepared for the worst. I was sent to end the threat to him and his father.”

“End the threat.” Pietros stood and stalked about the room. “Oh, I’m sorry. _Possible_ threat since, by your own admission, you really have no fucking clue.” He stopped directly in front of Barca, who still sat on the floor. It wasn’t lost on him that they’d been in these exact positions when they’d first met, only in reverse. “Why haven’t you kill me?”

The wolf was quiet for so long that Pietros didn’t think he was going to answer. When he did respond, it was with an angry torrent of accusation in his tone. “Because you saved my worthless, fucking life, okay? I was going to make sure the hawk clan had made no moves towards my alpha, and then I was going to rip out your throat on the small chance that you actually posed some risk.”

Pietros swallowed and took a single step back. In his mind’s eye, he saw the wolves who’d murdered his people and it sent a cold shiver down his spine. Barca would be physically indistinguishable from them in his animal form, and he had no doubt that, on his alpha’s orders, Barca had committed similar crimes. Before he could think of a response, the wolf barreled on. 

“You made your opinion on wolves’ lack of integrity very clear when we first met, and I have done despicable things in my lifetime. But I do live by a code. I don’t respond to mercy with ruthless backstabbing. So you see, I _can’t_ kill you after all, as much as I may want to. Because _you_ , who have every reason to want me dead, saved my life by returning me to this cabin when I was at my most vulnerable. I fucking _hate_ you for it.”

Pietros was aghast. “You’d rather I’d left you there for Zeus-knows-who to find and kill?”

“Yes.” Barca finally trusted his legs enough to stand, wanting to be on even footing with the impossible young man. “I don’t like being indebted to anyone.”

In an effort to calm his rising anger, Pietros counted to ten slowly in his head. “You removed the _metriazo_ collar from my neck and I kept you safe until the electricity left your body. Why can’t we just thank each other and be friends? We don’t have to owe the other anything.”

“Wolves and hawks _can’t_ be friends.”

Silence rung in the wake of his ardent statement. Pietros’ caramel skin flushed and his breathing quickened, his eyes flashing in anger. Barca didn’t know what to expect from the hawk. He prepared himself to receive an earful of lovey-dovey shit about how everyone should be tolerant of each other and how all the Were-hunter species weren’t really all that different. 

Instead, Pietros spun around and flung himself onto the little cot in the corner of the cabin and faced the wall. “I’ve had a very long, crap-filled day. I’m going to turn in early.” He hesitated before speaking again in a would-be casual voice. “I trust that no member of your pack will come calling here, right?”

“Uh…no. It’s unlikely.” This cabin hadn’t really been used by his pack in decades, which was why he’d brought Pietros to it in the first place. It had originally been built for guards running perimeter checks on their land, but ever since their border had expanded to well beyond the river, newer, closer cabins had been built and this one had been abandoned. “Do you…um…Is there anything you need before I leave?”

As though in answer to Barca’s question, Pietros’ stomach cramped in hunger. “No,” he said stubbornly. He’d be able to scrounge up a meal from the forest nearby. 

Hearing the hawk’s stomach rumble, he conjured a loaf of bread from the kitchens back at base-camp and placed it on the tiny table. Before he had the chance to teleport away, Pietros’ voice stopped him. 

“Wait. There is something I’d like, maybe, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”

Barca quirked a questioning brow.

“Books? I don’t have any anymore. All my historical fiction is gone, all my mysteries. They’re a way for me to escape, to not think about what’s going on in my own life. Without them I have no filter for the real world.”

Though he kept emotion from showing on his face, he internally cringed. One wolf in his pack had adored books and kept quite a collection. Unfortunately, he’d recently died, and his prick of a son was unlikely to be loaning out his stuff right now. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you.” Pietros lay back down and shut his eyes. 

***

_Home base of Batiatus Pack, Westerwald, East of the Rhine_

Barca flashed back to base camp and cursed silently to himself as he went in search Agron. He was _not_ in the mood to deal with the temperamental man right now. 

On his way into the main complex, he ran into Agron’s brother sparring with a young female in the courtyard. 

“Duro! Where’s Agron?”

Duro took a step back from the woman and gave him a rude grimace. “What do you want with him?” he asked suspiciously. 

Barca ground his teeth. He had no friends amongst his pack mates, which suited him just fine. He wasn’t all too fond of them either. But the one aspect of their treatment that severely pissed him off was their disrespect of him just because he hadn’t been born into their pack. Batiatus’ eldest son Quintus had saved his life when he’s been a whelp and had taken him in for protection. 

Though Batiatus heir wasn’t outwardly cruel to him, he knew that he fostered it in the others and, over time, had made them all hate him. Barca thought it was to ensure that he had no choice but to remain loyal to Quintus, the only one to show him kindness. 

Whatever. Barca wasn’t loyal to Batiatus because of _kindness_. It was a blood debt, nothing more. 

“I need to see him.”

“Look,” Duro said, gesturing aggressively with the sharp end of his staff. “We just lost our father. Agron shouldn’t have to deal with you right now. Give him some peace.”

Barca rolled his eyes at the man’s hostile attitude. Duro didn’t scare him in the least. “I’ll find him on my own, asshole.”

Hotheaded as ever, Duro rushed him with an angry shout. Barca had him pinned in less than a minute. 

The idea of teaching the wolf a lesson was very appealing, but he knew this wasn’t all about him. Like Duro had said, his father had just died, and Barca was willing to bet most of his current stupidity was a direct result of this. 

Without a word, he got up and left Duro alone with the woman with whom he’d been sparring. 

***

Barca found Agron – rather unsurprisingly, in hindsight – in his father’s study. He stood in the open doorway, unsure as to whether or not he should knock. Agron, also being an Arcadian Lycos, plainly knew he was there, but he didn’t want to give Agron any added incentive to deny him his simple, and admittedly strange, request. 

He settled for clearing his throat to formally announce his presence and asked in what he hoped was a respectful, solemn voice, “Agron?” He took two steps forward into the room. “I’m sorry for your loss. Your father was a very honorable man. A very just man.” The only one, in fact, who hadn’t hated him on the spot for a past that he couldn’t help. “The pack greatly mourns his loss.”

Agron lifted his head from where he’d been cradling it in his hands and looked up with red-rimmed eyes that narrowed in suspicion. “What does Uncle want this time? He’s not getting any more of my father’s belongings.” Agron stalked belligerently to where Barca stood. 

For his part, Barca attempted to look as non-threatening as he could. Holding up his hands in a placating gesture, he said, “I’m not here for Batiatus, I give you my word.”

He waited while Agron sized him up, and knew the moment he’d sensed the truth in his words. Were-hunters could smell deceit and it was very difficult to mask it from others. Normally it was only Aristi who were powerful enough to manage it, which Barca was not. However, some, like Batiatus, who made a habit of lying, were able to camouflage treachery well.

“I’m not in the mood to verbally spar with you right now,” Agron said tiredly, turning away. Indeed, there were circles under his eyes and the normally strong and robust wolf looked like he wouldn’t last two minutes against a Katagaria pup.

“I’m not here to stir trouble. I was wondering whether I could borrow a few of Titus’ books. I’ll make sure they’re returned to you, you have my word.”

On Agron’s face was the most insulting mixture of surprise and incredulity. “Books? You’re asking me to borrow books?” A smile tugged the corner of his mouth, though not altogether cruel. “What do _you_ want books for?”


	4. Fantasy

_Cabin, Westerwald, East of the Rhine_

_Wolves and hawks_ can’t _be friends._

The litany ran through Pietros’ mind until he thought he would go insane. He didn’t know why he cared so much about one infuriating wolf. Barca was rude, highhanded, brutish…

…and the hottest thing on two legs. 

His eyes popped open and he glanced nervously around the room, as though the silent admission had summoned the sexy beast to his side. But he was still alone. Rolling onto his back, Pietros stared at the wood beamed ceiling without really taking in any of the woodgrain’s details. 

He knew why Barca’s words had struck such a chord in him. Because for the first time in three days, after his entire world had been ripped apart, he’d thought he’d found someone he could be comfortable around. There was something about Barca that made Pietros want to spill his secrets and lay all his fears and doubts on the other man’s strong shoulders. He thought he’d sensed a kindred spirit in Barca, but he’d been wrong. It felt like losing everything all over again. 

Worse than misjudging the man so enormously, was the small fact that Pietros still wanted to take a bite out of him. He didn’t understand his attraction to a man who was the total antithesis to himself. Pietros had never met anyone less like he was, yet it only made him want to learn more about Barca, what made him so closed off and reserved. 

He felt himself hardening and cursed both his treacherous cock and Barca. He shouldn’t want that man. Wolves had destroyed his life. They were mindless animals, brutal killers. 

But Barca had saved him, and though a part of Pietros despised his own gullibility, he truly believed Barca when he said he wouldn’t hand him over to Batiatus. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, as he gave into the pulsing need between his thighs and took himself in hand. He hesitated before pushing down his sweatpants to expose his hard length. 

His lust-filled mind conjured a scenario in which Barca would return to the cabin and find him in the midst of a quick hand-job. He’d be too far gone to stop, and rather than be disgusted, Barca would want to join in. After one glance at Barca’s undoubtedly gorgeous cock, he’d slip from the bed, drop to his knees, and take it into his mouth. 

Groaning out loud, Pietros palmed his sac and squeezed the base of his cock. Would Barca grab handfuls of his hair? Cage the back of his head and force that cock down his willing throat? There was something so hot about the thought of all that brute strength commanding him, able to crush him, yet controlled so as not to hurt him…any more than he wanted it to hurt, anyway. 

Neither of his ex-boyfriends had been able to walk that tightrope between pain and pleasure like he craved. It was as thin as a knife’s edge and oh-so-elusive, but Pietros had a feeling that Barca could do it masterfully.

Pietros wanted to finger himself, but the stiff binding on his arm limited the reach of his right hand, and he couldn’t bring himself to stop the quick, jerky motions of his left. He was so close…

He bit his lip as he imagined himself on his knees, looking up at Barca, the mass of muscle towering over him, and that stiff prick between his lips. Soon, Barca would push him off, tell Pietros to open his mouth and stick out his tongue so that he could see his cum dripping off of it. Pietros cried out and shot when the fantasy Barca grabbed the back of his head again and rubbed his face in his groin, marking Pietros as his. 

Heart pounding and dick still twitching from the force of his orgasm, Pietros lay in a languid stupor, moving only to tuck himself back into his sweatpants. He was still hard, and if he’d been any less worn out, he’d take a shower and jerk off again. Instead, Pietros focused only on the pleasurable hum of his body and fell almost immediately asleep. 

***

_Barca’s quarters, Home base of Batiatus Pack, Westerwald, East of the Rhine_

Barca slid two medium sized duffel bags beneath his cot. One contained several days’ worth of clothes, previously owned but in good condition, while the other held a number of books borrowed from Titus’ study and assorted toiletries and essentials. While it was very tempting to dump them off at the cabin now, he knew Pietros would be asleep, and as much as it galled him to admit it, he really wanted to be there to see the look on his face when he opened them. 

The little shit thought he had Barca all figured out. Well, he didn’t. No one was privy to his innermost thoughts and motivations. Just because they could never be friends, it didn’t mean he wasn’t immune to the hawk’s situation. He’d been in it himself when he was a child. 

He seldom thought of his birth pack nowadays. Barca often wondered how much it would have affected him had he been just a bit older when it happened. As it was, he had very few memories of the massive fire that had blazed throughout their encampment, a fire he’d barely survived. 

He knew what it felt like to start from scratch, to lose his family. He thought it might be worse for Pietros because he was fully grown when he lost everyone and everything. The young are malleable, fluid. Adults are set in their ways. How would he cope if the fire happened tomorrow, and he be forced to begin his life over?

It was a moot point, in any case. Barca had no one he cherished, no real ties to this pack except the repayment of a debt. He wasn’t like Pietros, who had felt true loss. For a brief, shameful moment, he was jealous of Pietros. What was it like to have had people who loved you? To have family so beloved to you that to lose them absolutely crushed you? 

The fleeting thought passed almost as quickly as it came and he admonished himself. He should be grateful that he couldn’t remember his family. To remember would be to grieve them, and he had no wish to dwell in sadness. The only thing he really missed was the feeling of belonging somewhere. 

No one in the Batiatus pack would miss him if he suddenly up and left tomorrow. No one needed him, hell, few of them even wanted him around in the first place. They called him Batiatus’ lap dog, a name he seriously resented. 

He’d make sure Pietros’ new life wasn’t like his. Despite what the hawk had said, Sanctuary was really the best place for him to be. He needed to start making new friends and connections. Pietros would be happier being around people more like himself who could distract him from his sorrow. Oenomaus was his best chance of finding another hawk clan to take him in, if Pietros didn’t want to remain at Sanctuary indefinitely. 

But why shouldn’t the bears adopt him into their eclectic pack? Pietros was kind and even-tempered and their clan would be happy to have him – especially since he was a touch on the liberal side and entertained odd ideas about which species it would be acceptable to befriend – acting like the species differences didn’t exist. Naevia was just like Pietros, now that he thought about it. They’d get along well. 

Barca swallowed a sudden lump in his throat. He wouldn’t be able to see the infuriating young man again after he left. _Which was good_ , he told himself. He needed it like that. There were too many people at Sanctuary who knew him and too many potential spies for Batiatus. No one could see him associating with the hawk, see the easy way Pietros got him to speak and interact with him. It was hard enough trying to hide his hideous attraction to him while they were alone, but with others watching…

Barring the fact that Pietros was male, a same-sex bond would never be accepted in their society, Pietros was also a different species. If any wolf found out he was lusting over a _hawk_ , his life would be over. 

_You don’t have much of a life anyway._

True, he didn’t. But the wolves who basically ignored him now would make his life hell. Homosexuality wasn’t largely accepted among his pack mates, who would love any excuse to run him off or put him out of their misery. 

Well, he couldn’t miss what he never had. Barca would set Pietros up to move into Sanctuary as soon as possible, and then forget he existed. He turned over restlessly in bed, punching his pillow into a more comfortable shape and wondering how on earth he was supposed to get that man out of his head. Whenever he closed his eyes, all he saw was Pietros’ sharp, intelligent gaze, that smile hidden in the corner of his mouth, those lips that were made to be stretched wide around his cock… 

Pressed against the mattress, his dick began to fill at the idea. Refusing to get off to thoughts of him, Barca tossed on the cot some more and wound up on his back, hands resting stubbornly behind his head. 

He didn’t sleep a wink all night. 

***

_Cabin, Westerwald, East of the Rhine_

Barca flashed himself right outside of the small cabin and hesitated before knocking. After a few seconds, the door opened an inch and a beautiful brown eye peeked through. 

“Barca!” Pietros shut the door immediately in his face. Heart hammering, he whipped off the towel that was tied around his waist and flashed himself into the clothes he wore yesterday – the only clothes he currently owned. Then he opened the door again, a little wider this time, and peered into Barca’s bewildered face. 

“Um, sorry about that. Why did you knock?” Could Barca hear his heart thundering in his chest? Pietros felt it through his fingertips, surely the wolf could detect it too. 

Barca shrugged, and it was only then that he noticed a duffel bag slung across each broad shoulder and a paper bag clutched in one hand. “Didn’t want to disturb you.”

“Hey, it’s your place.” He stood back for Barca to walk past him. “You can enter whenever you want. I – I mean you can _come_ anytime you feel the urge.” Pietros scrutinized Barca’s response to the delicately inflected words. His strong jaw set and the tips of his ears reddened before he turned away. 

“Sorry again about slamming the door. I’d just hopped out of the shower and hadn’t gotten dressed yet. I was still in a towel.”

Barca, back to him, dropped the bags to the floor with a heavy thump. “I brought you some shit I thought you’d need.” He made a beeline toward the kitchen window and became fascinated with the broken latch. 

Bemused, Pietros took pity on him and temporarily abandoned his intrusive task of determining Barca’s sexuality in favor of seeing what he’d brought. 

He unzipped the first bag and gasped as he saw the many t-shirts and pairs of trousers it contained. There were even two pairs of shoes that looked like they might actually fit him. The other had basic necessities, toothbrush and toothpaste, razor and soap, shampoo and…

“Books!” Pietros flashed himself directly behind Barca so that he could give him a quick, impulsive hug, and then dashed away to read through the titles before the wolf could protest the embrace. “Thank you! These make me so happy!”

Barca had stiffened, in more ways than one, at the brief feel of Pietros’ arms around his waist. He coughed uncomfortably, now wishing that he _had_ left them last night when Pietros was sleeping.

“You’re not my prisoner. I want you to be…” He trailed off, but Pietros didn’t seem to notice his words as he was still busy looking through the stack of books. “I’ll need them back before you leave.”

“Leave?” The hawk’s head shot up. “Where am I going?”

Barca’s jaw clenched before he answered gruffly. “You can’t stay here forever. Sooner or later you’ll have to move on with your life. I’ll just need the books back before you go. The rest you can keep.”

His mouth curved into a sad smile and Pietros lowered his head to hide it. “Thank you for all this. I don’t think I’ve ever received a more thoughtful gift.”

Barca grunted without responding to the thanks. “While you’re here, I can also bring you food from our kitchens.” He indicated the paper bag on the floor with a nod. “There are edible plants nearby, but I think it’s best that you don’t wonder too far. At least until your arm is healed, that is.”

Pietros’ grin widened. For a man who didn’t want to be friends, Barca was showing an awful lot of concern for his wellbeing. Rather than call him out on it, he stood with the paper bag and emptied its contents onto the small countertop space next to Barca. 

“This is great. Again, thank you.”

After giving him a small, jerky nod, Barca turned to leave. 

“Hey, wait,” Pietros said, stopping him in his tracks. “Will you come by later?”

“Did I forget anything?”

“No, not at all. You should come by around supper time. I’ll make us something to eat. You bring something alcoholic.”

Barca went full-on deer-in-headlights. “Um… I don’t –”

“Come at 7.” He walked up to Barca, who was rooted in place, and grabbed the thick wrist. “Since I’m sure you have a clock somewhere at base camp, I’m going to borrow this,” he removed Barca’s wristwatch, “so that I know when to expect you.”


	5. First Move

Barca sat stiffly across from him at the cabin’s small table. Though he spoke coaxingly and tried to initiate conversation, the wolf remained stubbornly aloof, talking only when words proved absolutely necessary. 

“Stew’s good,” Barca said, sounding reluctant to offer any kind of praise. 

“Thank you,” replied Pietros dryly, picking up immediately on his tone. 

“What did you put in it?” He didn’t recognize the meat; it wasn’t something that had been in the parcel of food he’d brought earlier. 

“Rabbit.” Pietros’ eyebrow raised at Barca’s look of disbelief. “What? I’ve lived in the Westerwald all my life. Did you think I popped into a grocery store in the city whenever I wanted meat? I can hunt with the best of ‘em.”

Barca’s lips twisted into a disapproving frown but he didn’t speak. 

Pietros flushed irately. “Is it hawks in general you think can’t hunt, or just me?”

“Don’t get all fired up, okay? Hawks can hunt fine. People with broken arms, however, should refrain from it. You can’t even shift. How are you supposed to defend yourself?”

“Uh, like humans do?” Pietros said sardonically. “Human hunters don’t have the ability to shift, nor can they teleport out of bad situations. Besides, I was hunting rabbits, not lynx.”

Barca sat back in his chair and took a deep draught of beer. It was clear from the expression on his face that he was finished with this conversation. 

_Stubborn bastard._

Pietros took a drink from his own longneck beer, one of a six-pack brought by Barca. 

“Is that the only reason why you’re helping me out? The – the clothes and the food and stuff?” 

The wolf grunted in question. 

“Because of my arm?” he elaborated. _Because he thinks you’re helpless and is taking pity on you._

Barca sighed and popped the top of a second bottle of beer. “No.” 

Pietros waited for more of an explanation, but Barca tipped his head back and drank unhurriedly. Breathing seemed more difficult than usual as he watched Barca’s throat muscles work as he swallowed. What he wouldn’t give to trace those lines with his tongue…

When it became clear that Barca would not cough up more information without further prompting, Pietros cleared his throat and asked, “Then why? Because I’m trying to think of a good reason for you to make such an abrupt 180, but I can’t come up with anything. No offense, I get the feeling this doesn’t happen all too often.”

Barca met Pietros’ gaze and found himself transfixed. He couldn’t decide if the alcohol was helping him or not.

“I just know what it’s like to have to start over from scratch. I had nothing at all when I joined the Batiatus pack. Losing everything and then having to begin life again is hard.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through that. How old were you?”

“Seven,” Barca answered without thinking. Yeah, the beer was definitely _not_ helping. It was only lowering his inhibitions. It had to be the beer and not the hawk’s completely intoxicating presence. 

Pietros paled. “Seven? You were a baby! Did anyone help you out? Like you’re doing for me?”

Barca relaxed back into his chair and stared at a long scratch on the scrubbed wood table. He took another sip of beer in lieu of answering. 

Mimicking Barca’s posture, Pietros sat back and folded his arms across his chest. “How do wolves mate?” he asked abruptly. 

Barca clasped a hand across his mouth to keep from spitting out his beer. 

“ _What?!_ ” Maybe he’d heard the question wrong.

“I’m not asking about sex. I’m asking like, how do wolves choose a mate? I know that bears, like the clan who runs Sanctuary, they arrange meetings between other bear clans so that young adults who are ready for that kind of thing, have the opportunity to meet other eligible, unmated bears and possibly find their mate. I also know that family leaders can request mating tries, but that it’s always the female who has final say. I was just wondering how wolves do it. Can’t be all that different.”

Barca pinned him with a suspicious glare, and answered with some caution. “When a female is in season, males fight each other for the right to mate with her. As with the bears, it’s the female who picks the one who impressed her most. Normally that’s the victor, but I’ve seen a few instances where they’d pick the loser.”

Pietros was the one who broke eye contact this time. “Have you ever lost?” 

“None of the females in my pack would have me one way or the other. Why should I fight for them?” 

Before Pietros could ask more questions, Barca fired one at him. 

“How do hawks mate?”

“Um…” His brain needed a second to process the question as it was currently occupied filing away the information Barca had just dropped. “For us it’s approached more like a business arrangement. Beyond the actual sex, it’s the parents who handle all introductions and decide who might be good pairs. A mate is seen more like a lifelong companion, it doesn’t matter all that much if they actually have mating marks or not. If it looks like someone isn’t going to find their fated mate, which happens a lot with all species, not just hawks, then they’re partnered with someone who will complement them.”

“That’s a horrible system.” Barca set his second empty beer bottle and summoned a third. “How have you guys not died out already? Our kind need mates in order to have offspring. Pairing off for the sake of having a partner is ridiculous.” 

Pietros flushed. “No, it’s not! Human beings need companionship, and as Arcadians, that’s our stronger nature. I’m not explaining it right. Besides, we don’t live as sexless monks. The mating is regulated by elders because living a solitary life is seen as the most terrible way a person can live, but we’re able to have sex and find mates all on our own. Unless you’re mated, being paired off just means you have a partner who will always stand by you. It isn’t frowned upon to look for sexual partners elsewhere.”

“That makes no sense,” Barca said flatly, shaking his head.

“As for me, well… Before my clan was killed, I mean, my parents would have arranged a partnership for me. A woman. If neither of us found the mates destined for us by the Fates, we’d live the rest of our lives together as companions. If we never developed an exclusive sexual relationship, it would be totally acceptable for both of us to have… boyfriends on the side. Does that make sense?”

He couldn’t tell if Barca had completely understood what he’d just said. The man’s facial expressions changed so little and getting him to speak felt like pulling teeth. 

Barca’s next words came out in harsh staccato. “You having a boyfriend would be ‘totally acceptable’?”

“More or less. The sex part of a relationship doesn’t always come with the person chosen for you. Companionship is something else. Unless we find our destined mate, Arcadians and Katagaria almost never find that one perfect person to share our lives with. Hawks know that, likely, one person can’t fulfil you utterly unless you share a mating mark, and even then, not all mated pairs love one another. That’s why lovers on the side are, kind of, expected.”

“Did you deliberately misinterpret my question?” Barca bit out angrily. 

“Maybe. You first though. What happens when a wolfswan is in season, but wants a female to mate with? Can she just pick another woman without having to go through the fighting ritual thing? An what about men? What if, rather than fight for a woman, he’d rather have a wolfswain? I’m just wondering what gay –”

“There are no gay wolves,” Barca interrupted harshly. “They’re not tolerated in our society.”

A grim smile tugged the corners of Pietros’ mouth. “You just contradicted yourself. Are homosexuals banished from society, then?”

Barca remained silent for so long that Pietros didn’t think he was going to take up his argument. “There are no gay Were-hunters,” he repeated in a voice laced with barely contained fury. “The Goddesses of Fate have chosen a mate for each of us, and no matter which animal you are, no matter if you’re Katagaria or Arcadian, it’s going to be a member of the opposite sex. That’s the way it is, always. There is no place for homosexuality.”

Pietros’ breathing was coming faster and faster, as though he were climbing a mountain and trying to take the thinning air into his burning lungs. “I’m gay. I know for a fact that there are others of our kind who are too. I don’t know what life has in store for me, but I know my purpose in this world is not to mate and churn out babies. There is no female who can give me everything I need. You’re either in denial or you just haven’t met the right person yet.”

The wolf stood up so fast he knocked the chair backwards. He towered over Pietros, who willed himself to remain seated and give no indication of just how much Barca’s intensity was affecting him.

“What are you insinuating?” Barca’s tone dared Pietros to call him gay.

“Nothing,” he held his hands up in surrender. “If you can honestly tell me that you’ve never been attracted to another man before, I’ll drop this subject immediately. And forever. Just be honest.”

Barca spoke softly, but very distinctly. “I’m not attracted to men.”

Pietros let the words simmer in the air between them for several heartbeats before responding with what he knew to be a fact. “Have you forgotten that I’m an Arcadian too? I can smell lies and I know you’re lying to me right now.”

He let out an involuntary gasp as Barca gripped his upper arms and hauled him up so that he was inches from the other man’s livid face. 

“If you tell _anyone_ –”

“Who would I tell?” Pietros demanded, hating that this close proximity to Barca, even while the man was extremely pissed off, aroused him. “Every single person I cherished in the world is gone. Aside from a few words with Kore and the folks at Sanctuary, you’re the only person I’ve spoken to, the only person I will speak to in the foreseeable future. I think the only ones who’d care that you’re gay is your pack. And given what bigoted assholes they seem to be, I’ll stay as far away from them as I can.”

Barca set Pietros back down slowly. “If you tell anyone, I will kill you.”

Pietros gave his muscled frame a quick once-over. “I believe you.”

Still breathing harshly, Barca righted the chair he’d knocked over and pushed it beneath the little table, then went to sit on the armchair on the other side of the room. He conjured a fourth beer for himself and didn’t stop drinking until it was half gone. It was too bad he couldn’t really get drunk. His Arcadian metabolism wouldn’t let him unless he drank an entire vat of it. 

The sounds of Pietros cleaning up the remains of their dinner were strangely calming and domestic. He knew the polite thing to do would be to help out, especially since the hawk had cooked everything in the first place, but he needed a few minutes alone to kill the fucking erection that was trying to tent his jeans. That was the absolute last thing he needed Pietros to see. 

Pietros was gay. Had he ever lain with a man before? The question brought forth images of Pietros submitting to a faceless man, bending over for him, laying down for him and grabbing the backs of his knees to expose his... _Oh, hell_. Barca’s cock liked the mental picture of Pietros like that, but the idea of the hawk with someone else made his blood boil and aided him in subsiding his arousal.

He thought he nearly had himself under control, when Pietros approached him tentatively.

“Barca? Would you help me unwrap my arm?”

Pietros stood awkwardly several feet from him, looking almost fearful to come any closer. Barca felt like an ass for putting that expression on his face. He motioned the hawk closer to examine the binding. 

“Are you sure it should be coming off? Maybe you should go see Kore and have her look at it.”

“No, it’s fine now. I started healing as soon as the _metriazo_ collar came off. It’s been fully healed since this morning.”

Barca tried not to breathe in through his nose lest the musky, natural male scent of Pietros reignite his arousal. “Then why did you wait so long to take it off?”

Barca didn’t look up to see him blush, for which Pietros was grateful. “I thought my arm was the only way I’d see you again. I thought that once I’d healed, you’d kick me out.”

“I’m not going to do that,” Barca murmured as he carefully unwrapped the long bandage. 

“You know, I really won’t tell anyone,” Pietros said suddenly. “I’d die before outing someone like that. You can trust me.”

Barca grunted, tossed the binding away, and waited for Pietros to retreat. 

Only, he didn’t. 

Moving so that he now stood between Barca’s parted knees, Pietros stared down with a new understanding of the man before him. Despite his hard upbringing, Barca had a kind nature…somewhere very deep inside him. And he was terrified of anyone discovering he was gay.

“Well…Thank you for dinner. No one has ever cooked specifically for me before.”

Pietros didn’t step back. He swore he could feel the heat of those dark eyes gazing down at him. 

“I’m going to leave now.” But just as he started to stand up, Pietros knelt suddenly, each hand firmly gripping one of Barca’s knees. If he stood up, he’d be putting his crotch directly in line with…

He tried to teleport out of the startling proximity of Pietros’ mouth to his growing erection, but he found he couldn’t. He glared accusingly at Pietros. 

“I have you on lock down,” Pietros said unnecessarily. 

Barca panted harshly as he tried again to teleport out. He couldn’t believe Pietros had his powers leashed. For the first time, he felt the hawk’s Aristi powers that were foretold in the prophecy, and with this discovery, he felt a sense of foreboding. Until now, he hadn’t truly believed Pietros possessed them, but no one so young should be able to pin him so easily. He didn’t even know if Pietros knew the raw power inside him or how to properly channel it.

“Release me. Now.”

Pietros snorted. “Don’t worry. I can’t hold someone as powerful as you for more than a minute or two. But I wanted to ask you something while I have you here.”

Barca’s jaw worked. “ _What?_ ”

“Do I arouse you?”

Glaring at him, Barca snarled, “You are very pushy and intrusive. I don’t like you at all.”

"Very mature,” Pietros said dryly. “But that’s not what I asked. I don’t like you at the moment either, but I still want you. Do you want me?”

Barca actually growled at him. “If I said ‘no’, you’d only call me out for lying again.”

“Have you ever been with a man before? I got from what you said earlier that you don’t really have interest in fighting for mating rights with females. Are you still a virgin?”

He didn’t say it mockingly or with any hint of humor, which lessened Barca’s anger. Somewhat.

“Yes.”

Pietros blew out a breath and stared up from his position between Barca’s strong thighs. “I’d like to make you a proposition.”

“You make it sound like a business deal,” Barca spat.

“It’s not,” Pietros assured him. “I know you have no interest in expanding your circle of friends beyond your own species, and I’m fine with that. But that doesn’t stop me from being wildly attracted to you. And I can tell by your scent,” he leaned forward and ran his nose up Barca’s inner thigh, “that you’re not unaffected by me either.”

“Christ!” Barca gripped the arms of the chair until his knuckles turned white. “What are your terms?”

“It’ll be just sex between us. I’m not asking for a commitment from you. I’ll help you live out the fantasies you’ve kept buried. And we’ll keep it a secret. No one will find out, I promise.”

“And what – what do you get out of the deal?”

Pietros hesitated. There was nothing he wanted from Barca at all, nothing he expected from him, except… “For however long you’re fucking me,” he took great pleasure in the hitch in Barca’s breathing at that word, “you won’t fuck anyone else.” Given how closed Barca was about matters regarding his sexuality, he didn’t this this would be a problem. “We’d be exclusive.”

Barca swallowed. “I can do that.”

Pietros responded with a brilliant smile. “Good. Are you going to try and teleport away from me again?” Barca gave him an unheated glare. “Just making sure! Now, have you ever given or received a blow job?”

“No, alright?” Barca said with exasperation. “Let’s just assume the answer is ‘no’ to every intrusive question like that. God, you’re very – you’re so pushy. And…and...”

“Intrusive, I know. Only when I see something I want.” 

“What is it you want now?” Barca’s hand reached down to adjust himself through his jeans and Pietros’ eyes followed the motion hungrily. 

Without further ado, he opened Barca’s fly and pulled out that huge erection. Gods… it was nearly as thick as his own wrist. While his was much more slender than Barca’s wrist – thank Olympus it wasn’t that big – the size of it was still daunting. He had a fleeting moment of doubt that he’d ever be able to accommodate it. If things went the way he planned tonight, he’d be walking funny tomorrow. That is, if he could walk at all. 

Pietros looked up to see the unexpected tenderness shining from Barca’s eyes, and knew in that instant what he wanted. In answer to Barca’s question, he relaxed his throat and took that cock into his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The stuff about hawk's mating customs is totally made up, none of that comes from Sherrilyn Kenyon's world. I try to play by the rules as much as I can, but occasionally I have to bend some or make up new ones altogether. I WISH readers of Sherri's books knew more about hawks. Perhaps we'll get more information in a future book.


	6. Flight

Barca threw his head back and howled as Pietros engulfed his cock. Naturally, he’d wondered what this felt like, but none of his fantasies had prepared him for this reality. It was amazing! His hand went instinctively to rest on Pietros’ head and fisted in his hair, but he let go quickly. 

Pietros pulled back and looked up at him with passion-darkened eyes. “You don’t have to worry about being too rough.”

“What?” 

The hazy, semi-drunk look on Barca’s face made him smile. “I don’t mind a little aggression. You can grab my hair, pin my arms above my head, hold my legs open… I like it rough. You won’t hurt me.”

“I don’t want to scare you. I _can_ hurt you.”

Pietros’ mouth quirked and he used his powers to remove Barca’s shirt. “I can take care of myself.” He spat in his hand and used it to stroke Barca’s erection. “I want a barbarian, a conqueror. I’ll let you know if it’s ever too much.”

“Fuck! Put your mouth on me again,” Barca demanded, groaning when Pietros drew the tip of his dick between his lips. 

Pietros reveled in the weight of Barca on his tongue, the heady smell of him filling his head. Due to Barca’s size, he wasn’t able to take him all the way to the hilt – yet. To make up for it, he used his hand to stroke the base while he sucked the rest. Then Barca’s hands returned to thread through his hair and he hummed in approval. The vibrations caused the larger man to tremble and tighten his grip. 

Pietros pulled back slightly. “Are you about to come?” He stuck out his tongue and slapped Barca’s erection against it. Unbelievably, it swelled even further in his grasp. 

“Gods! Fuck, yes! I’m gonna –”

Pietros aimed Barca’s cock up so when he came, he shot all over his ripped chest. He lost all track of time as he stroked Barca through his climax. Holy fuck did he want this man…

Pietros brought him down slowly, until Barca was forced to shove those talented hands away from his sensitive flesh. 

“Oh my god.”

He grinned at Barca’s blissed-out words. “I’m guessing my cock-sucking skills get your stamp of approval then?”

“Oh my god,” Barca repeated, unable to think of anything else to say. 

Taking a second to magic off Barca’s pants, which hadn’t even made it past his hips in Pietros’ haste, he felt himself throb within the confines of his own clothes. Having a naked Barca spread out before him was enough to get him fully hard, as if giving that blow-job hadn’t gotten him hot enough. Even the multitudinous scars that covered his body weren’t enough to detract from his appeal. On the contrary, strangely, they seemed to add to it. 

Still on his heels between the other man’s thighs, he reached into his pants to squeeze himself when Barca suddenly shoved him back until he fell on his ass several feet from Barca’s chair. He looked up at the wolf with a hurt look. 

Barca’s expression managed to be shy, yet his voice was forceful. “I want to see.”

Pietros’ heart pounded faster as he understood what Barca wanted. Before he could act, Barca used his own powers to remove every stitch of clothing he wore so that Pietros sat naked before him. Arranging himself into a more comfortable position with his legs outstretched, he took himself in hand and stroked, staring all the while at his feral wolf. 

A few good strokes would finish him off, but Barca’s voice cut through the haze. “Slow, go slow. Make it last.”

The muscles in his stomach twitched as he trembled, but somehow he was able to obey. He slowed until every caress was a study in excruciating pleasure. The way Barca stared at him, like he wanted to take a bite out of him, made him harder than he’d ever been in his life. 

“Can I come now?” he asked softly, making it clear to Barca that he was putting the decision solely in his hands. “Please, Barca, I’m so close.” Pietros’ eyes fell to Barca’s erection, which was starting to thicken again. 

“How long can you stay like that?”

“On edge, you mean?” His voice hitched on the words, the strain of holding back his orgasm showing. “Not long. I’ve been hard since the moment I held your monster erection in my hands.” His gaze fell to it again, almost fully hard once more. “I keep thinking of that inside me. So big… Please let me come.”

Barca’s eyes narrowed slightly, and for one second, Pietros thought he’d be cruel and make the torture continue, but he chose to be merciful instead. “Yes, come.”

He’d never seen anything like it: Pietros shuddering before him, his eyes tightly shut, and his mouth open in a silent cry. Every muscle in his body clenched, and then all the tension left him and he sagged, almost reclining on the dirty floor. Acting on impulse, Barca flashed Pietros to the bed. The hawk gasped sharply, not expecting the abrupt change of location. 

Still trying to catch his breath, Pietros sprawled out on the cot, a blissful grin broadening his lips. He turned his face in Barca’s direction, and the wolf felt strange emotions rising inside him. The way Pietros looked at him, with such peaceful trust, it made him feel protectiveness and…possessiveness. 

Propping himself up on his elbow, Pietros smiled in expectation as Barca stood and started walking over to him, but his happiness died as the wolf clothed himself. 

“What’s wrong?” He tried not to let his disappointment show in his tone. “Are you leaving?”

“Yes.” He loathed the feeling of retreat, yet he needed space from Pietros in order to get his riotous emotions in check. There could never be anything between them but the sharing of bodies, yet he felt himself wanting more, wanting _all_ of Pietros. 

“Oh.” Pietros dropped his gaze. He’d expected Barca to fuck him, but he wasn’t about to go begging for it.

The sight of Pietros naked on the cot, the dark curls framing his face and that tight, toned body just lying there for the taking, made Barca swell even further in his jeans. Movement became even more painful when Pietros licked, then bit, his lower lip. He didn’t need to be a Were-hunter to sense the pain in the hawk. It made his chest clench. But he sucked with words. 

“I’ll come back tomorrow with more food. Is there anything specific you want?”

“Is this how it’s going to be from now on?” Pietros demanded in a hard voice. “Are you going to pretend nothing happened? Are you going to act like you didn’t let a guy suck you off?”

Barca’s jaw clenched. “No. I would…very much like for that to happen again.”

Staring at Barca’s impenetrable expression made Pietros long for the ability to read minds, just this once. “You should add lube to your shopping list. Do you know what that’s used for?”

“Barca is barbarian,” he said in a stilted monotone. “Barbarian uses no lube when he fucks.”

Pietros burst out laughing at Barca’s unexpected humor. “Yeah, well bring some anyway, okay?”

Barca’s eyes softened a fraction. “I will.”

***

Pietros didn’t see Barca the next day, nor the two following. In fact, his only indication that Barca hadn’t completely forgotten about him came in the form of three grocery bags on the fourth day. They’d appeared on the kitchen counter a few hours past daybreak. It hurt more than it should have that Barca couldn’t even be bothered to bring them himself, rather, he simply teleported them over. 

Barca hadn’t given him the impression that he was so repulsed by him, but maybe he’d read the wolf wrong. Now he’d driven away the only “friend” he had. 

He knew he should start thinking about getting his life back on tract. They’d been kind to him at Sanctuary when he’d returned Kore and had made it clear they’d be willing to get him back on his feet. But even as the thought entered his mind, he talked himself out of it. He wasn’t ready yet. To leave the Westerwald would feel like abandoning his people and their memory. He’d take a couple weeks – maybe longer – in the cabin by himself, then he’d reach out to Naevia and the bear clan at Sanctuary. 

In the meantime, Pietros walked outside and stared up at the clearing of sky visible above the little wooden structure. He’d been dying to shift into his hawk’s form for days, but had been nervous about doing it because of his arm. It felt completely healed, but he was paranoid of shifting and hurting it worse. 

Shaking himself out of his funk, he kept his eyes on that clear, cloudless sky, held out his arms and flashed into his animal form. There was no pain as he shot up like a bullet. Feeling more joyful and free than he had since before the Katagaria attack, Pietros cried out in happiness, not caring who heard him. This was the best part about being a hawk, the gift of flight. Nothing felt better than soaring through the air, becoming one with the sky. 

A lone wolf’s howl caught him off guard. His body momentarily forgot how to keep itself airborne and he dropped about 20 feet before he righted himself. _Fuck_. In his delight, he’d overlooked the fact that the Westerwald was home to two warring wolf packs, neither of which were friendly to him at the moment. 

He took off east, flying into the sun. The wolf below him howled again, and Pietros’ expanded senses told him it was following him. Fear of the unknown wolf made him fly faster until he heard a familiar deep voice in his head. It was severely pissed off. 

_Pietros! What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Get down before somebody sees you! If you don’t pop yourself down here this instant, I’m going to tan your cute little ass red. You won’t be able to sit for a week! Get down now!_

Barca continued shouting increasingly ridiculous threats through the telepathic connection as he slowly circled back to the ground. Pietros didn’t know whether or not he was thrilled to be seeing the man who’d ran out on him as soon as he’d gotten a blow job from him. 

Barca began shouting at him verbally as soon as he was within earshot, before he’d even flashed back to human form. 

“What’s wrong with you? I go to the cabin and you’re not there. Instead you’re flying circles around Batiatus’ territory daring them to catch you.”

“Oh, my god!” Pietros exclaimed in alarm once he transformed and hit the ground. “What happened to your face?!” Though Barca’s clothes were clean, his face looked like someone had been using it as a punching bag. 

Barca ignored the question. “You need to stay by the cabin! That was a stupid, fucking thing to do. What if someone from my pack had seen you? Or, gods forbid, the Katagaria pack? They’re still after you, remember? How can I protect you if you’re flying off all the time? My god! Have you been doing this for the past few days? It’s a wonder you’re still alive. I’m tempted to tie you to something to keep you from trying to commit suicide again. Fuck!”

Pietros’ mind reeled. First, that might be the most words he’d ever heard Barca string together at once. Second, this wasn’t a man who didn’t care about him. Third…

“Do you really think I have a cute ass?”

Barca’s eyes widened and he raised both hands as though he’d wring Pietros’ neck, but he let them drop to his sides. “Is that all you got out of my angry tirade? I’m so fucking pissed at you I can barely keep from giving you the spanking you deserve.”

Pietros crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, if I’m going to get a spanking, let’s go back to the cabin. We’d both enjoy it a lot better if we were naked in bed and I was spread out over your lap.”


	7. No More Waiting

Pietros crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, if I’m going to get a spanking, let’s go back to the cabin. We’d both enjoy it a lot better if we were naked in bed and I was spread out over your lap.”

Unbelievably, Barca felt like smiling. Sheer strength of will kept his amusement from showing on his face. Anger somewhat tempered, he flashed them both back to the cabin. 

“Barca, I’m sorry I scared you. That was the first time I’d shifted since I broke my arm. I wasn’t thinking about the dangers, only how good it felt.”

The wolf’s face was a mask, not allowing Pietros to read his emotions as easily as when they were outside. Barca nodded, not speaking. After all the talking he’d done a minute ago, it was almost like he’d used up his word quota for the day and didn’t wish to expend the energy it would take to speak more. 

“Were you really that scared for me? Is that where the anger’s coming from?”

Barca’s jaw ticked. “Just – you weren’t in the cabin. I didn’t know where you were.”

“I honestly didn’t think I’d see you again.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Pietros said sarcastically. “I throw myself at you, and you can’t get away from me fast enough. I don’t hear from you for days, and when you finally remember that I’m alive, you can’t even face me long enough to bring groceries in person.” He paused briefly before adding, “I am grateful for those, by the way, even though I’m irritated at you.”

“I told you we’d see each other again when we last spoke and I said so in my note.”

“What note?”

Barca went to the kitchen counter and pulled a slip of paper from one of the unpacked bags of food. He shrugged and slipped it into his back pocket. “It just said that I’d be by later in the day.”

Smiling, Pietros came up to Barca and tried to extricate the note from his jeans. “You wrote me a note! That’s so cute! Let me see.”

“Stop it!” Barca moved to evade Pietros’ hands, glad no one from his pack could see him as he felt faintly ridiculous backing away from a slender, slip of a hawk. “It wasn’t a love letter or anything. It just says what I told you. That I’d be by later.”

Pietros gave him a patient look. “I really am sorry I flew off half-cocked. I wasn’t trying to get caught. Now, will you tell me what happened to you?” He took Barca by the shoulders and sat him down at the little table. Then, conjuring a bowl of warm water and washcloth, Pietros began cleaning the blood off Barca’s face. Now that the shock of seeing so much blood had worn off, he could see there were no fresh injuries. 

Barca shrugged. “I am in service to Batiatus’ son,” he said as though this was an explanation in and of itself. 

“But what happened? Were you captured? Is that why you haven’t been around?”

“Pietros…” Barca caught the wrist of the hand holding the washcloth. “I enjoy your company, more so than that of my own kind. I find myself curious about you and wanting to know you.” His gaze turned bleak. “But the more you learn about me, the less you’ll want me around. You think you have a sense of my dark side, but you have no idea.”

Images from the worst day of Pietros’ life flashed before his eyes, making him flinch. “I’ve seen the worst of _our_ kind. I can handle your dark side.”

“There are things I won’t tell you. It’s not unusual for me to be gone for days at a time. No one’s ever cared about my absence before, so I didn’t think to inform you. I’m…sorry I left you no word.” 

Pietros dropped the wet cloth, raised Barca’s hand to his cheek, and held it there firmly. He had a feeling the word ‘sorry’ didn’t often leave Barca’s lips. “I’m never going to push for more than what you’re willing to give me. I’m not going to judge you for the things you need to do for your pack.” He released Barca’s hand and resumed his gentle wash. “Are there any fresh wounds I can’t see that I need to treat?”

“They’ve healed. My face only looks like this because I…” A tic beat a sexy rhythm in his jaw. “I wanted so badly to come back here that I flashed over as soon as I was free to. I changed clothes, but didn’t think about washing off the blood. I just wanted to see you.”

Pietros could see the effort it took the wolf to admit that much to him. “Come here.” He took Barca’s hand and tugged him toward the bed. “Lay down on the left side near the wall. It’ll be a tight squeeze, but…” Pietros reclined next to him on the narrow cot, “We fit. Did you remember lube?”

“You didn’t look at those bags I sent for one second, did you?” Sighing, Barca summoned a huge squirt bottle of lube from one of the bags on the kitchen counter. 

“Holy crap!” Pietros took it from him, laughing. “This is big enough to lube a Hobbit-sized slip ‘n slide.” 

Barca just stared at him blankly, the Lord of the Rings reference totally wasted on him. “Did I get the wrong thing?”

“No,” Pietros assured him, still grinning madly. “There’s just _so much_ of it.” Barca’s impassive gaze fell to the lube and after several heartbeats of no response, Pietros’ smile faded. “Look, we don’t have to do this.” That finally got Barca to look at him. “If you’re not interested in sex with me, I’ll still suck you off. I’m not going to beg or force –”

Barca’s right hand lifted and covered his lips, stopping his words in his throat. Pietros’ breathing sped up as Barca trailed his hand down his neck, over his chest and stomach, until it paused at the hem of his shirt. One of Barca’s legs moved to drape heavily across his thighs, as though to hold him down. Licking his lips, Pietros raised his arms and crossed his wrists above his head. He wanted Barca to be able to explore and go at his own pace without any pressure from him. 

_Oh, fuck._ No man should be that alluring. Barca’s cock thickened within the confines of his suddenly too-tight jeans. Pietros’ fear that Barca didn’t want him couldn’t be further off-base. He wanted the sexy, infuriating hawk way more than he should. The intense attraction didn’t make sense. They were both men of different species, the thought alone should repulse him, yet nothing seemed to matter right now except feeling more of Pietros’ succulent flesh beneath his palm.

His right hand slid beneath Pietros’ shirt just as his left clasped both the younger man’s slender wrists in a steel grip. The hawk bit then sucked his lower lip, riveting Barca’s gaze. He explored Pietros’ hard chest leisurely, watching intently for his reactions. 

“You’re not going to beg me?” Barca asked in a low voice, leaning in and trailing his nose along the hawk’s soft cheek. 

“I – I can. I will if you want me to.” Pietros’ cock jerked at the suggestive tone and his hips thrust instinctively. 

The wolf held his gaze and nodded slowly. “Ask me nicely for what you want.”

“Barca, would you please touch me?”

“I _am_ touching you.” Barca’s fingers found a hard nipple and pinched it between his thumb and middle finger. 

“Oh, gods yes!” His back arched, pushing into Barca’s hand. “That feels so good. But lower…my cock…”

Trailing his hand down, Barca finally managed to tear his gaze away from Pietros’ face to watch as he toyed with the top of Pietros’ jeans, undoing the first button and pausing before fingering the second. The hawk writhed next to him ceaselessly. 

“You’re so…squirmy. Hold still.”

“But you’re going so slow! Are you trying to make me lose my mind? I’m trying to let you go at your own pace, but your pace sucks. Please touch my cock! I can’t stand the wait.”

Barca furrowed his brow thoughtfully, but the philosophical-vibe was ruined when he firmly cupped Pietros’ cock through the thick fabric of the jeans. “I think you like it, me making you wait.” He squeezed and Pietros gasped and tried to thrust up into his grip. “You could remove your clothes with your powers to speed the process along, but you’re not doing it. Why?”

“Barca, please!” Pietros moaned. Somehow, the man had managed to find and push his buttons expertly. He craved a strong, dominant lover, one who took what he wanted and took pleasure in assuming control over the action. Right now, Pietros didn’t want to use magic because Barca was right – he loved not being in command of his body. 

“ _Why,_ Pietros?” 

“Because I like you toying with me.” Despite his dark complexion, Pietros blushed fiercely as he said it. “I have a tendency to be a bit bossy –”

“I hadn’t noticed,” Barca interrupted dryly. 

Pietros rolled his eyes but didn’t respond to the sarcasm. “So I like to give up control once in a while. Just so you know,” he suddenly looked very young and vulnerable, “I don’t let just anyone top me like this. It means I trust you.”

Barca broke eye contact and opened his mouth to speak, but Pietros spoke over him, not wanting to hear the wolf’s rebuff.

“Look, I’m not under any delusions here. I know I’m just something fun for you to play with for a little while. I’m like your training wheels. Eventually we’ll part ways and you’ll move on to something with a bigger engine. I’ve already accepted that, so don’t let what I just said freak you out. I mean, you must trust me a little too, right?”

“I… don’t understand the metaphor. Wheels and engines, humans use those for transportation, yes? Am I to surmise that engines are better than wheels? I’ve seen their motorized transportation units and they _all_ have wheels.”

Pietros gave him the most adorable scowl. “Please tell me you’re just fucking with me right now. ‘Motorized transportation units’?” Though their kind didn’t typically make use of human methods of transportation, preferring instead of simply teleport places, everyone knew what cars were…right?

The corners of Barca’s eyes crinkled with mirth and he gave Pietros a small, closed-lip smile before slipping his hand back up Pietros’ shirt. 

“Oh, you’re driving me crazy, playing with my nipples like that,” Pietros moaned. “They’re so sensitive.” Barca’s leg was still slung over both of his, pinning him down. If they’d been free, Pietros would have already wrapped them around the other man’s waist, humping him from beneath. 

“Please, Barca. I want to feel my naked skin against yours.”

Surprisingly, Barca obliged him. He groaned at the sudden, very welcome sensation of Barca pressed up next to him with nothing separating them. His wolf was hard all over and warm, as though a fire burnt within him. Pietros writhed some more, loving the feel of all that muscle rubbing against him. This time, he could feel the effect his movements had on Barca; the cock pressing against his outer thigh thickened even more. 

Barca didn’t speak, but looked at him with a raw hunger that left Pietros all but salivating. His own gaze fell to Barca’s lips. They looked so soft, such a wonderful contrast to the rest of his body. Pietros wanted to lunge up for a kiss, but didn’t dare risk being spurned. Fucking him was one thing, but kissing added a level of intimacy Pietros wasn’t sure Barca wanted to experience with him. 

“Do you want my mouth on you again? Want me to suck you?” Pietros asked in a choked whisper. Since he couldn’t have Barca’s lips, he wouldn’t mind wrapping his own around that beautiful cock again.

Unable to form coherent thoughts past the intensity of his lust, Barca trailed his free hand down Pietros’ lithe and sinuous body. He paused briefly at Pietros’ throbbing dick, marveling for a moment at how different and wonderful it felt to be holding another man’s sex. Oh, the sounds the hawk made when he cupped his balls… But his prize was lower still. 

He removed the leg he’d slung across Pietros’ upper thighs so he could spread them wide enough to allow him access to the part of Pietros he was dying for. “ _This_ is what I want.”

Pietros smiled wickedly and tugged his wrists out of Barca’s grip. “With pleasure.” He grabbed the lube and coated the fingers of his right hand. 

Barca watched in awe as Pietros’ fingers disappeared. He’d never anticipated how arousing it would be to watch the man prepare himself for his cock. He stroked himself slowly as he enjoyed the erotic show. 

When he was done, Pietros almost asked, _how do you want me_ , but stopped the words on his tongue. Instead, he said, “I want you to fuck me on my back.” For their first – hell, for all he knew it may be their _only_ – time, he wanted it to be face to face. He reached out his hand to rub the leftover lube onto Barca’s cock, then settled back on the cot. 

Pietros’ hardness lay on his lower belly. Barca could see precome glistening on the head, but the hawk didn’t touch it. He lifted his legs and grabbed behind his knees, exposing himself fully. Barca had never been more uncertain in his life as he hovered over Pietros, propped up on one hand while the other held his dick steady, and pushed slowly into him. 

Or tried to, at least. 

“I don’t think I’ll fit,” Barca muttered when he met with resistance. 

Pietros chuckled breathlessly. “That’s my line.” Barca gave him an alarmed look and made to pull away, but Pietros locked arms and legs around him. “Wrong time to make a joke, sorry. You just have to keep going.”

“I’m not hurting you?”

“No.” He rubbed Barca’s muscular shoulders reassuringly. “I promise it’ll get more fun in a second. Given my prior experience with your rather large schmeckel” he raised his eyes significantly, “I prepared myself very well. Why don’t you slick yourself up more?” He thought that might put Barca more at ease. 

The wolf obeyed and quickly retook his place above Pietros. Barca tried again. Pietros bore down, trying to open himself up enough to allow Barca entry. After what seemed like an eternity, he was fully impaled.

The best part wasn’t the exquisite fullness, but the sound Barca made when he was fully seated in him. Pietros could only describe it as a sigh of contentment. 

_Barca,_ Pietros sent the thought unconsciously, wanting to touch every inch of the man on top of him, even his mind. _Barca!_ Pietros thought he would die as he waited for Barca to move. If he didn’t know how inexperienced the wolf was, Pietros might think Barca was giving him time to adjust to his massive size. Unable to help himself, he bucked his hips, trying to ride that thick cock from below. 

A strong hand gripped his hip and stilled him. Before the plea to move could form on his tongue, Barca began thrusting. 

_Oh, gods, yes!_ Pietros didn’t know if he said it aloud or in thought, but Barca nodded, looking at him with some emotion akin to wonder. 

“You feel…” The wolf’s words ended with a deep, guttural groan. “I need to –”

“Harder. Fuck me harder.” Mouth open in a silent scream, Pietros’ hand moved swiftly on his cock as Barca obeyed the breathless instruction. He didn’t know how much more of this he could take – the pleasure was ripping him apart, yet he never wanted it to end. 

_Is this okay?_ Barca’s voice whispered through his mind. It was the only sign of vulnerability the wolf gave. 

_Masterful,_ he replied. _Barca, can you…Could you talk dirty to me?_

Barca’s rhythm faltered and he scowled. Pietros thought he would die from embarrassment. He tried to scoot out from under the larger man, but Barca grabbed his wrists and held him pinned beneath his heavy frame. 

“Where do you think you’re going, boy?” Barca said in a low voice, which held the slightest tremor Pietros almost didn’t catch. It reminded him how new Barca was to sex, almost how innocent he was.

“I’m… You’re –”

“You like my cock filling you, slut?”

Pietros grinned at the unexpected turn, relieved Barca hadn’t turned away from him in disgust. “Fuck yeah. I’ve never had anything so big inside me before.”

“I can tell. You’ve got a tight, sweet little hole.” There was more confidence filling his words now, which made Pietros all the hotter. 

He needed to finish himself off. Gasping, Pietros tried to wrest his right arm out of Barca’s grasp so he could stroke his throbbing cock. _Barca, please, let me…_

“Uh uh,” Barca said when he noticed what he was trying to do. “I’ve heard that _whores_ like you,” he smirked at Pietros’ reaction to the word, eyelids fluttering and breath coming in heavy pants, “Can shoot just from getting a good plowing. Are you my good whore?”

Barca pinned both his wrists easily with one hand and used the other to grab his jaw, angling his face up and to the side so his neck was barred in submission. The wolf nipped the tender flesh there with blunt human teeth, then sucked hard, drawing an agonized cry from him as Barca thrust even faster into him. 

“Answer me,” Barca ordered against the abused flesh of his neck. “Is my cock enough to make you shoot all over yourself?”

Pietros had never had a lover who’d made him come hands-free before, but suddenly everything seemed possible. The strong, assertive way Barca was holding him, talking to him, fucking him, he answered honestly. _Yes, it’s enough. Please, just make me come!_

Still gripping his wrists with one hand, Barca hooked his free arm beneath Pietros’ leg and brought it to rest on his shoulder. The change in angle made Pietros moan, his face contorted in ecstasy. Barca couldn’t look away from the sight. The hawk was the most beautiful sight he’d ever laid eyes on, and he’d never before used that word in reference to a person, male or female. 

_I’m so close…Barca!_ In that instant, Barca lowered his head and took one of his nipples between his lips, sucking strongly while pinching the other between calloused fingers. It was just what he needed to push him over the edge. 

_Don’t stop! Keep fucking me,_ Pietros cried out through their mental connection as his body exploded. A second later, Barca gasped as his orgasm began. Pietros knew this process took several minutes for wolves, and clung to Barca as his cock continued to pulse and throb. 

Eventually, Barca went boneless on top of him, face nestled in the crook of his neck. Pietros let him lie there for a few more minutes before saying, “Switch places with me. You’re crushing me.”

Somehow, Barca managed to turn them around without leaving his body. Unbelievably, he felt the cock inside him harden again. “You can’t be ready to go again so soon,” he said skeptically. 

Barca grinned wolfishly at him. “Boy, you have a lot to learn about the mating habits of wolves.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for how long I've let this sit here with no updates. I have been writing Spartacus fiction, this plus a couple little one-shots, but I've had writer's block for a while and have been unable to complete anything. Also, since I've last updated, I've had to get used to a new office environment and moving to a new city. I feel like I'm settled now and can devote more time to relaxing in front of my computer and getting back into the habit of writing. If there are still any readers out there, thanks for being patient!

**Author's Note:**

> A commenter on Bare Palms asked how in the world Barca and Pietros met and fell in love when they are natural enemies - a hawk and a wolf. That got me thinking and this fic is the result. I'm not quite as far along on this story as I'd like to be, but I really really wanted to post and hear feedback. I think taking the plunge and letting others read it will help get my butt in gear and make me write as though I have a deadline :)
> 
> This fic may (will most likely) be rated Explicit in the future. I'm just not certain at this moment how far I'm going to take it. We'll see. I do love me some hot Barca/Pietros action...


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